“Do you get that a lot? No one ever tries to pick me up.”
“I don’t believe that. To answer your question, it happens occasionally. I’m not often alone when I’m out so I think that limits it to the most brave. They don’t want me, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re attracted to the concept of me, but it’s a fantasy they’ve built. It doesn’t matter if they’re know who I am or not. It’s this.” He waves his hand at his face, then shrugs. “The fame helps. At least she didn’t recognize me. That would be a mess.”
I peer into his glass. “Did you get the ‘massive ego’ IPA?”
“I got the ‘realistic’ lager. My looks are an asset, fully monetized.”
I know he’s right. It’s Sam’s public persona, and the same is what Fong Lee said that first day about her fans. What kind of pressure does that create? To be on a pedestal that you never built, and that is a by-product of doing a job to the best of your abilities?
— Lily Chu, The Stand-In